


Linger

by miya_sugar_star



Category: the GazettE
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Mention of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 20:16:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10343784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miya_sugar_star/pseuds/miya_sugar_star
Summary: An artist, a pianist and a singer. He was once one of them or all of them altogether.[To be fixed in the future]





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hereruha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereruha/gifts).



> Very, very late birthday gift to hereruha xD I promised her a birthday fic ever since 2015 :') But it only took me a few hours to write this up lol there are times I hate my muse.
> 
> This (seriously) short fic actually relates to me so much, although I haven't yet reached the adult-working phase lol

 

He was once an artist.

  
Who loved to draw on any flat surface, eager dominant hand turning something out of dull things so they became beautiful, more colorful, _vibrant_. Full of aesthetics, themes, designs…

 

His hand was always light as a feather in the air, painting and drawing to his will, applying pressures here and there as his brushes and pencils and pens and charcoals- that satisfyingly dirtied his skin, created their way all over the stretched, infinite free world of his.

 

He was once a pianist.

 

Who used to spend his time practicing until his callused fingers bruised, his eyes weary and mind shut down against its will. His head would fall, hit the music sheets, sending them, _fly_ and _fly_ and _scatter_ and _scatter_ around and down and low at his feet.

 

The melody and chords made beautiful music back then. He loved them, loved performing for the little audience he had when he worked as a part-timer at a hotel. He could not afford to buy a branded grand piano of with the payment he had, but he could afford to be happy and appreciate little things some people wouldn’t think of as enough.

 

He was once a singer.

 

When no people were spotted around, he would just sing any song – he could remember and be so deep into – all to his heart. He was no professional, but children where he worked at a day care liked listening to his singing. At least he knew where to hit the right pitch, control his breathing, all chest, throat and head.

 

Now, he is no longer any of who he was. Life has finally caught up to him. Now, he cannot find the time to do whatever he wants and did. He misses doing all of that a lot. People say if you feel nostalgic of your younger times, it means you are not living your current life to the fullest.

 

 _Really_? Really.

 

It depresses him sometimes. Whenever he is so near to become what he’d become, the thoughts of the piled work would come across and he would think twice, then discard the ideas because—

_Hey, none of it is necessary anymore. You’re a grown up, you’re a fucking adult you should continue working your ass off to pay off the monthly bills you’ve been getting._

But that’s where he makes the same mistake. Things have gone down again and again.

 

He feels lonely, he is lonely. He has no close friends, family and relatives are not the people whom he always shares his feelings and thoughts with. He needs help so, _so_ bad. But help always seems like it will arrive late.

 

And the kind of help he always receives comes in a form of a stranger.

 He doesn't know his name. 

The stranger who always sees him at his worst and comes to his side after a call or a simple text. The stranger who merely helps him relieve a part of his stress by way of nails marking his shapely thighs, pressing him up against the wall or the floor and choking him deep and making him scream with his fullness inside of him with so much _passion_ and _energy_ that had once lost and died in his younger self.

 

No, he does know his name. But often, when the night is wearing up on them, Takanori tries not to remember it, even a syllable or even the alphabet he’d accidentally slipped up during their heated times. The man is just a stranger, in his bed, in his apartment. He was a stranger when they first met at the bar.  When the other offered his number, Takanori had only saved it for emergency – like this and has always been this – to ‘HELP’.

 

If only Takanori were able to say a single thing, he’d say his thanks to his helper and ‘ _will call you again whenever. Oh right, some cash for you and here it is’_ at the door. But because his mind is blank, or too consumed by heavy thoughts, _or_ tranquilized by the other’s wood scent in this warm night, he remains silent like a statue and like a doll, merely smiles only just a little whenever the stranger asks whether he is okay or not.

 

Of course he is _not_.

 

“No, don’t touch—“ Takanori would say when the other man combs his fingers through his soft, after-sex tangled hair, and swat his hand away.

 

“Sorry,” The other would say above his head, almost too sweetly and Takanori hates that. This stranger always tries to be gentle with his hand and do all other things that sometimes… _sometimes_ tug at the fragile strings of his heart.

 

No, no, no and he is not going to experience that again.

 

Perhaps, Takanori should consider deleting HELP’s phone number after this. Yes, of course he should. No one is going to prevent him from doing so. They have been meeting for a few times and been talking way too much to Takanori’s liking – although it is always his fault— and they need to put a stop to this.

 

“I’ll miss you.” The brunet says in the morning after, and he’s never said that. Takanori’s shocked face says it all.

 

“Why... did you say that? Are you leaving the town and going somewhere?” _Far_?

 

The other chuckles and shakes his head, obviously basking in Takanori’s rare, subtle hint of discomfort at the simple announcement. He places a hand against the doorway, above Takanori’s head.

 

“No, it’s just…that’s what I always feel whenever I leave your place.”

 

“Huh?” Takanori’s pulse immediately takes a sudden, quick pace and he breathes in deeply to calm himself down and gather the strength to slowly push the door close. He doesn't want to be too rude to bang the door shut in the other's face. But anyway, this is getting awkward and uneasy for Takanori to digest and he doesn't like it.

 

“I see…umh, you’ve got the money, right? Bye.”

 

“Call me if you need me again, okay? I’m worried about you.”

 

Takanori frowns slightly,  nods without another word, _this is too much already_ – and holds his breath as he closes the door shut.

 

Waits for a second, two, three…

 

“Oh, never mind.” He shakes his head, wiping at the tears wetting his cheeks, his breath a shudder each time he draws it in. Leaving the front door, he takes a few weak steps to reach for his phone from the table then scrolls through the screen to find HELP’s number.

 

Delete this contact?

Yes | No

 

Takanori’s thumb hovers over one of the options and he holds his breath. If he had been a single-minded person, he would’ve deleted it straight away. But the thing is... he isn’t.

 

“ _What?! Are you serious?!”_

 

Takanori jumps at the voice and spins around to find his helper standing behind him. Both of them looking shocked more than ever as they stare at one another, and Takanori nearly facepalms when he sees the front door. How the hell did he forget to lock it…

 

“Taka…” This time the stranger says it softly, expression hurtful. “Please, don’t do it.”

 

Takanori steels himself and squares his jaw. “Why did you come in here?”

 

“It was just my instinct—“

 

“Just get out of here. _Leave_.”

 

“Takanori—“

 

“Is the money not enough for you or what?”

 

“You..." The other's eyes have gone dangerously narrow at that, his breathing laboured. "God! Stop treating me like a fucking whore!”

 

“But you’ve _never_ refused my money!”

 

“I _just_ want to keep seeing _you_! Have you even ever noticed?!”

 

Takanori shakes his head slowly, having no more words to counter. And just as he’s about to burst into tears, the other man doesn’t waste his time and goes to him, taking his small body into his arms.

 

“You’re so helpless, Takanori…” The brunet rubs the skinny arms and hears the other muffle against his chest, so he leans in closer to listen to him.

 

“I just want to draw again… I want to play piano again… I-I want to sing again…” he sobs uncontrollably. “I w-want—“ _to feel alive, to be free-_

 

“I know. That’s what you’ve always told me—“

 

“I want to become _someone_ to you t-too…” Not a constant one-night stand, just no more.

 

The brunet widens his eyes, and cannot help but smile at the confession. When he leans in, Takanori seeing this coming, he kisses the smaller man properly for the first time ever.

 

“Alright, then.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments would be appreciated! ^^


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